TO ———
WOULD you care, dear love, if you knew,
That as Stars on a wintry night,
My dreams and my mem'ries of you
In my life are the sole things bright?
For I muse on a Summer's eve,
When your lips first trembled on mine,
And your eyes wore a tender look,
Like a Saint's at a holy Shrine,
Alas! and alas! oh! my Love,
Your Face was too fair to be true.
For Men such as I, I am glad
That Women like you are but few.
That as Stars on a wintry night,
My dreams and my mem'ries of you
In my life are the sole things bright?
For I muse on a Summer's eve,
When your lips first trembled on mine,
And your eyes wore a tender look,
Like a Saint's at a holy Shrine,
Alas! and alas! oh! my Love,
Your Face was too fair to be true.
For Men such as I, I am glad
That Women like you are but few.
You took from my soul all its joy,
And rifled my heart of its youth;
Because that one Woman was false,
I think that in none there is truth.
Yet, Dear, did I know where you were,
The thraldom of Love is so sweet;
A look from your passionate lids
Would bring me again to your feet.
Alas! and alas! oh! my Love,
Though faces less fair are more true;
I find—and oh! me! I am glad,
No Woman on Earth like to you.
And rifled my heart of its youth;
Because that one Woman was false,
I think that in none there is truth.
Yet, Dear, did I know where you were,
The thraldom of Love is so sweet;
A look from your passionate lids
Would bring me again to your feet.
Alas! and alas! oh! my Love,
Though faces less fair are more true;
I find—and oh! me! I am glad,
No Woman on Earth like to you.
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